Control
by armageddon-incarnate
Summary: Something goes wrong, and Peter is mad. What are the consequenses? R&R. Chapter eight up. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Control

A/N: Yes, it's me, with my very first non-parody Narnia fic! Sorry, the fangirls are on hold for the moment, I'm having MAJOR writer's block. So, I came up with this. It may turn into a multi-chapter fic, depending on reviews, but I don't know. I wrote it while listening to 'No Good Deed' on the Wicked soundtrack, and I consider that a very angry song, so this will be very angry. All right, here we go.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Narnia characters. C.S. Lewis does, and I am not him. I am not making any money off this fic.

Control

Peter angrily sharpened his dagger, not really paying attention. They were all so stupid! Not just Edmund, but Susan and Lucy… God, Lucy. Peter now felt that they should have shipped her off to a mental home the second she opened her mouth.

In his anger, he couldn't even remember why they were stupid, just that they were. Something about Peter needing to come up with a plan to save the villagers under attack. God! Wasn't Narnia ever safe?

A sharp pain in his hand caught Peter's attention. He had cut his fingers, and they were bleeding profusely. It didn't really hurt; it was numbed by the rage.

He threw his dagger away, and ran off into the forest. He no longer was thinking in sentences, in words. All his thoughts were now in colors. Red. Lots and lots of it. He couldn't even see where he was going.

Anger welled up inside him. He felt the scream coming on, felt it rise up, and he didn't repress it. His vocal chords vibrated as the scream came out. He kept screaming, kept up as much noise as he could.

He fell to his knees and began to hit himself, clobbering his head. Then, he felt it.

A hand on his shoulder. He slapped it away, and turned his rage on the hand. Distantly he heard cries of pain, and it fueled him, kept him going. He followed the red, obeyed the anger, the pleasure he took in violence.

Small hands, weak arms tried to restrain him, but Peter was strong, very strong. He grabbed a hand, and threw whoever the hand belonged to aside, feeling stabs of pleasure when the heard the thud.

Stronger hands gripped his arm, but not strong enough. Peter just whirled on the person, violently swinging his arms, kicking, the scream never ending.

Red. All he knew. He needed to see again, but couldn't tear himself away from the pleasure of hearing the screams, the thud of his fists hitting flesh, the shooting pain, telling him nothing. It continued, kept going, the pain mixed with pleasure.

All of a sudden, he went flying. The scream turned into a roar. He didn't know who had done that, but he turned on them, arms swinging. They kept dodging his blows, and eventually, Peter couldn't stand it. He needed it. Need. His anger flared. He flew every which way, not coming in contact, until he felt it. The thud against something.

His mind went into overdrive. He kept it up. There was pain as something was thrown against his body, a feeble attempt to stop him.

Then, a desperate cry pierced his rage. A voice, his mother's. Telling him to stop.

He tried. He did. But he no longer had control. A new color filled his mind. Blue. Dark, dark blue. Fear. He felt more fear than ever before in his life as his uncontrollable body, finding no more victims, turned on itself.

The roars of anger turned into alternating cries of pain and screams, screams that Peter tried to turn into the word help, but he couldn't.

Then, like a beacon on a dark night, it came. The sudden pain, in his shoulder. He stopped hitting himself, swayed for a second, and then fell over in an unconscious heap.

A/N: Did you like it? Should I continue? Please review! I'm not sure if it's set in Narnia, or the real world, but please review, and tell me which one you'd like better!


	2. Chapter 2

Contact

A/N: Yes, it's back, and it's better than ever! Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one! I really enjoyed it! So… on to chapter two! Oh, and BTW, I'm listening to Wicked again. Go out and buy it immediately! It is the awesomest musical in the universe!

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, it's characters, or anything else. C.S. Lewis owns everything Narnia-related. I am not making any money off this fic.

Contact

Chapter Two

Darkness whirled in Peter's head. No thoughts, no colors or sentences. Just black.

* * *

Susan wept bitterly. It pained her more to see him, his hands swollen, his face bloody, than her own wounds did.

Lucy clutched Susan, hugged her, her face buried deep in her sister's shoulder. She too, was weeping.

Edmund sat on the ground, not even looking at the shell that had once been his brother, the flesh of what was now an animal. He was making no noise, his shoulders were not rising and falling with sobs, but salty tears made their mark on his blood-crusted face.

The Pevensies thought their brother was lost. True, thought Susan he breathed still, and his heart was still pumping, but when Susan looked into his eyes, she saw no trace of Peter. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and Peter's soul was empty.

Susan couldn't understand what had caused the violence, the madness. All three siblings were bruised or bleeding, victims to their brother's attacks.

The most confusing thing was that Peter wasn't naturally violent. He had come to despise the fighting, the killing. Of course, he really hadn't been the same since he returned from the cave.

He had grown distant, he couldn't seem to focus. His eyes were always focusing on something far away, looking ahead. Susan had no idea what had happened in the cave, but she had a feeling it was the cause of the change.

Peter moved slightly. His arms flew up to his face, and he gave an unintelligible cry. Whatever he was dreaming about, it was hurting him.

Susan wanted to get closer, to calm him, but she was also scared of being attacked again. The medic had carefully removed the arrow in his arm, the arrow that had stopped his attacks. Susan gripped it in her right hand now, lines of fear, worry, and sorrow etched on her face, making her seem tens of years older.

The sister watched in pain as her brother struggled against an unseen assailant…

* * *

Peter thrashed out at the guards that came to take him away, back to her. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He bit and scratched, but the stony-faced guards simply kicked him, beat him until he resisted no more, then dragged him away.

He bowed his head, swimming in his own despair, drowning in it. He made no attempt to move as the guards tied him down the crimson table, a wooden table not naturally the red color it was now. Peter stared straight ahead at the ceiling, his mind not focused on the small room he had spent far too much time in. He didn't even flinch when she entered, didn't even look at her.

He heard her talking to him, goading him into making an angry outburst, but he didn't hear her words. He didn't even react when she lit the match, the fire licking eagerly at the wood. The fire was hungry for his flesh, for him. Still, he did not move.

It was only when he felt the distant pain that he made any movement as the match was laid on his bare forearm, the wood ablaze. The smell of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils, but he didn't do anything other than scream, to give her the reaction she needed to quit.

He felt weak, tired. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up, but he had no intention of trying to escape. He had long given up on that idea. As his reflexes, or what was left of them, took over, the pain became more and more distant, dulling itself to a pounding.

Peter closed his eyes and found relief in the darkness of an inactive mind…

* * *

A/N: Did you like it? I worked very hard on it, and am very proud of this chapter. I hope you like it. Please review! It will make me very happy. BTW, the whole last section was a flashback, if you didn't know. Or it might have been a dream, a sort of flashback dream. Oh well. I don't know. Review! 


	3. Chapter 3

Contact

A/N: Hi! It's me. Um… it's like, three a.m., and I'm not tired yet, so… on we go to the fic! Oh, thanks for all your reviews! I really enjoyed them, and I hope you keep reviewing!

Disclaimer: Narnia is not mine, nor are any of the characters or settings described in the books. Even though I don't really pay attention to the details. This story is a relatively original creation (well, apart from the characters and settings) and I'd really appreciate it if you didn't reprint any of this story without my explicit permission. If that's even the word I'm looking for.

Chapter Three

Peter awoke suddenly. He was back in his own bed, at Cair Paravel.

It all came flooding back to him. He remembered the rage, the violence. Thinking back, he was almost positive he had hit Susan, thrown Lucy, brutally beaten Edmund.

He played it back in his mind, recalling the screams and cries of pain. The more he remembered, the surer he became that he had injured his own family. The surer he became, the more he closed his eyes and tried to hold back the tears. Finally, he could hold it no longer. A single, stray tear escaped, and made its way down his cheek. He could hear the voices of his father and mother, telling him to take care of his family, and here he was, hurting them.

His eyes closed tightly, Peter began to pace. The tears kept coming as the screams grew louder, echoing in his head, vibrating in his skull, rattling his teeth. He couldn't understand why it had happened, what had flipped the switch.

He felt nauseous, and he hurried to the bathroom as, in his mind, he saw the blood on his hands, a mixture of his own and his siblings on his hands, felt the brief floods of anger again, at himself this time.

Leaning against the sink, Peter closed his eyes and gagged. Then it became clear as glass in his mind. He was vividly, Susan on the ground, her hands trying to cover her face, Peter hitting her. Edmund, screaming for Peter to stop, to stop. Lucy, crying in fear at the monster she thought was her brother. The blood, fists flying. Blood.

Peter vomited. All that came up was bile, he hadn't eaten in… he realized he had no idea how long he had been out, how much time had passed. Then, he glanced up in the mirror, and saw the other side of him. His eyes were blank, his face caked in blood, his knuckles swollen from the blows. It sickened him, angered him, to see himself like that. He swung his fist up, and it smashed though the glass mirror on the wall, cutting his hand and arm.

Realizing what he'd done, he knew he had to get out of the castle, get away form his siblings, from anyone he could harm. He stumbled to his desk, and wrote a sloppy message to his siblings, explaining how he needed to do what he was about to do. It honestly was a note, a note streaked with his blood.

Quickly he changed into regular clothing, then tried the door. He realized it was locked, and he angrily pounded his fist on the door, leaving smears of red, the color of his thoughts.

Then Peter whirled around. His window was right above the moat. Almost without thinking, he charged at the window, and smashed through it, causing several new wounds to occur on his face and body from the glass.

And then he was falling, falling, falling. Splash. Into the freezing cold water he plummeted. It numbed him, made it hurt to breath, sucked the energy out of him. As fast as he could manage, Peter swam to shore, then held onto the bank, gathering his strength before heaving himself onto the dewy grass.

Peter lay there a few minutes, shivering, too tired to continue. In that time, the images that would haunt him forever, flashed back in his mind. He had to get away.

Slowly, he began crawling away, his wounds leaving streaks of blood in the grass. He to a tree, and tried to stand up. He found it extremely painful, but manageable. Peter took a single glance backward before limping away. To where, he didn't know…

A/N: Did you like it? I'm very tired right now, so I'll have you know I honestly don't care if I made some descriptions up. Please review, and I'll work on chapter four.


	4. Chapter 4

Contact

A/N: Yeah, I know, I haven't updated in literally FOREVER! Sorry, RL stinks, I know. I've been writing a play for school, and have had loads of homework, and have been nursing other people's plot bunnies… it's been a full time job. But I'm back. And hopefully this will help my own plot bunnies recover, and my updates will be more often… if RL allows it… among other things, I also have band, which I love and will never give up…. Drat. The A/N will be longer than the story. Better get writing…

Disclaimer: Own nothing, everything belongs to C.S. Lewis and his estate…

Chapter Four

Edmund hadn't really wanted to leave his brother's side, hadn't wanted to leave him, in his time of need, but Susan had insisted upon it, insisted that there was nothing more they could do until he woke up… It still hurt him, though.

He knew that his brother had stuck by his side, even when he was under the White Witch's spell. He couldn't help feeling that he was abandoning Peter, couldn't help feeling that he was a traitor again. Nonetheless, Edmund had done what Susan had said, had left Peter, had locked the door so he couldn't get out, couldn't do further damage to himself or others, and gone to bed. Or, at least, tried.

He hadn't been able to sleep for the longest time. He had spent much of the night, tossing and turning, not able to sleep. He felt sick to his stomach, like he knew something was going to happen, like he knew that the locked door was going to stop nothing…

Once he had finally fallen asleep, he dreamt of nothing. It was not that he didn't dream, it was that he dreamt of Peter's eyes. While they once had been alert, happy, concerned, sad, showing various emotions, proving his brother to be human, they were now empty, devoid of any implication that Peter held the ability to think. It was as if Peter's soul had been sucked from his body, a thought that sickened Edmund. For if Peter's soul was lost, then so was Edmund, and Susan, and Lucy, and all of Narnia. If Peter's soul was lost, then so was everyone around him. If Peter's soul was lost, so was Peter.

In the past few weeks, Edmund had noticed a dulling of Peter's eyes, and his older brother had never held eye contact for long, as if he knew what was happening to him, and he was too ashamed to show it to his brother, too ashamed to admit he was weak. Now, he had never gazed into Edmund's eyes, not like before, when he was almost playfully challenging the younger boy to do something, to act. He hadn't looked truly back at Edmund in a long time.

But in Edmund's dream, Peter stared back dully, as if he had no idea what was in front of him. The elder boy's eyes were blank, not really connecting, not understanding, blind. Blind to everything around him, blind to the people around him, blind to emotion, light, sound, life.

Then, suddenly, a change came into Peter's eyes. The dullness quickly faded, to be replaced by anger. Sudden, blinding anger. Edmund unwillingly gasped, recognizing the same anger he had seen when Peter had beaten him. The violent anger, directed at no one, everyone, himself. The anger egged on by confusion and the lack of ability to understand, the lack of ability to control, the lack of ability to be human. But instead of acting, Peter stood still. Edmund watched as his brother gathered the anger up, tried to react, to defend himself, to attack, to find something to strike, something to vent, to release.

But some strange force was holding him back; something was gripping him tightly, preventing him from doing anything. Edmund watched in horror as Peter tried his hardest to release it, tried to get rid of it. But he couldn't even open his mouth to scream, couldn't raise his fists to hit anything, couldn't do cry. Nothing came from his body, his mouth, nothing. No reaction. The only things different were the veins sticking out on Peter's neck, the only sign of the amazing amount of strain the boy was going through, the only sign of a struggle.

Peter strained, trying to crane his neck, to release himself. But nothing happened. Nothing. Here was Peter, a man of action, unable to move, to even speak, to even express his emotions. And then it happened.

The only thing Edmund could to was watch as his brother wilted, fell to the ground with a thump, collapsed. A roar filled the younger boy's throat as the horrible truth came upon him, the terrible, terrible truth. Peter was dead.

Edmund awoke with a scream. There was a horrible taste in his mouth, and his head spun. He tottered to the bathroom, where he vomited. It had been so real, so tangible, so conceivable, so easy to grasp. Dead. His brother was dead. And yet, as the thumping of Edmund's heart slowed, he knew Peter wasn't dead. But there was something else. He sat wearily on his bed, trying to figure it out.

It came upon him as Susan barged into the room, tears streaming down her face. He said what she was about to tell him before she even opened her mouth.

"He's gone."

* * *

Peter crawled along the ground. His injuries had forced him down again, something he didn't enjoy. The adrenaline that had fueled him earlier was fading, and he began feeling exhausted. But he had to keep going, had to get away from them, to protect them, to protect him.

He crawled until he could go no further. He finally collapsed, one cheek to the ground, the other facing the sky. He was pounding in pain, vibrating in discomfort. He trembled, then clenched his teeth, reprimanded himself for showing weakness, showing emotion. If there was one thing she had helped him learn, it was that emotion could betray you at any moment.

Peter barely felt anything as thick snowflakes began to fall, his eyelids fluttering in a losing battle against unconsciousness. He just felt so tired, so weak… he wanted to rest for a long, long, time. Peter's eyes closed for a last time. He would get that rest…

A/N: Pathetic cliffie, I know, sorry. I hate them myself, but oh well. This one was a tad bit longer than the rest of the chapters, and I just want to thank Muriel Candytuft, for the wonderful thing about me in her profile. May I keep you laughing and crying! Hopefully a new chappie will be coming soon. So, yeah… review!


	5. Chapter 5

Contact

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! If we keep this up, I will have one hundred reviews if I get to chapter sixteen! Sweet! Let's keep going!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Five

Peter awoke with a start, a scream. A scream that filled his ears, tore his vocal chords, engulfed his soul. He knew this feeling. Anger. He couldn't understand it, hated it, hated himself. But he couldn't control it, couldn't stop the flow of his fiery blood that pulsed through his body. His vision was clouded with red, and he felt himself getting up off the ground, every bone, muscle, cell, aching in pain.

The scream stopped, but the rush of adrenaline he had received had not. Neither had the anger. Although it was quick to blind him, it was slow to control his mind, blotting through his thoughts slowly, like a puddle being sucked up by a towel, the speed slowed by Peter, his attempts to hold back it, to keep control of his thoughts, keep control of his brain, keep control of his soul. Nonetheless, there was nothing he could do, and eventually, the struggle to keep his senses became too much, and he gave in to the anger.

He ran, screaming, not knowing where he was going, not knowing what he was doing. His fists beat a relentless tune on whatever was around him, and still he received no satisfaction. There were no screams of pain as last time, no warmth of a living body being abused beneath his fists. There was only the throbbing sound of blood in his ears, the feeling of needing to explode on something, the feeling that if he didn't hit something, he would blow up. Tears ran down his face, he shook, but still his anger controlled everything, growing in his frustration at his inability to control himself, his inability to vent his anger, the inability to make himself feel human again.

He fell to his knees, and began beating himself, a desperate attempt to make it all stop, to make it go away. Distantly, he tasted blood in his mouth, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He was a king, a king, a person, a human, a homo sapiens, a boy, a brother. A brother. A king. A king. A king. A boy. A brother. A brother. Brother. Brother. Peter sobbed. A brother. He was a brother, a horrible brother, one who had abused his siblings, physically harmed them. He hated himself. Hated his own physical body, his mind, his soul.

All his shortcomings, everything, had been his fault. His own. He hated himself. Hated everything about himself. Hated. Hate. Hate. Such a strong word, yet not strong enough, not strong enough to describe the true loathing Peter felt for himself, the absolute revulsion he felt being this body, being this soul.

The red receded, and Peter looked up, peering into the dark of the forest. A forest. He didn't even remember being in a forest. But as he looked up, glanced down at the red of his hands, hands that had spilled far too much blood, hands that had spilled the blood of enemies, friends, siblings. Hands that now had his own despicable blood on them, hands he shouldn't even dare to touch, much less own.

He saw the blood, heard the screams, felt the dull beating of his heart. He had no choice but to go back, to go to her. He had to give himself up to her, let her do whatever she wished to him, let her kill him. He hoped beyond belief she would kill him. He didn't think he could live with himself anymore.

Wearily, he got to his feet, and began limping in a random direction. Anywhere he could get to, so long as it got him to her, where he wouldn't have to deal with it all anymore, where he could revel in his well deserved misery and pain…

A/N: You like? Sorry it was so short, but I felt this held enough emotion to count as a chapter. Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Control

A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the reviews. They really do help me get ideas so I can write more. Uh… what to say about this next chapter... Well, I was literally shaking when I wrote it, so, hopefully, that means it's pretty good. I don't know. Oh well. Hope you like it! Oh, one more thing... you may have noticed that the title switches between 'Contact' and 'Control'. This is because I'm not really sure what the real title is... hm... oh well. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Narnia books, or the world created by C.S. Lewis.

* * *

Chapter Six 

He awoke in the sun.

His face was warm; he felt sticky and messy, felt gross, disgusted. And he knew exactly why.

He had failed. Failed to find her, everything he was looking for, had been desperately searching, repeating to himself, "I must find her, must find her." He trembled weakly. His thoughts had been blurring, swamped together. He had thrown up twice, had collapsed, shaking. He felt stabs of pain every time he moved, a pain he reveled in.

Pain. Peter grinned, his face aching as it stretched. His skin was red-raw, sunburned. Although it had been very cloudy, the snow had reflected what little light there was back at Peter. He felt burning hot all over, almost thankful for it. Heat was better than freezing cold, which he had felt previously, dragging his exhausted body through the snow. It wasn't very thick on the ground, but it was covered in a layer of ice. Peter's weak arms were covered in massive purple bruises and small, paper-thin cuts from the ice, bringing back memories of the long trek he had taken at the beginning of his stay in Narnia, from the Beaver's house to Cair Paravel. He wasn't sure he could have made it without Susan and Lucy, and the motivation to find Edmund.

Edmund. Peter shook his head a little, sending shooting pains up his neck. He had searched so hard for his younger brother, searched so long. And had any of his siblings come after him? No.

He knew he was weak at the time, that he could be easily caught up with. But he heard no noise around him, no hint of a rescue.

Why bother? He was a monster, an animal, a beast. Why bother coming after a former person no one cared about any longer, a person who was no longer a person. He was no one. He had been a few things, a long time ago. Once upon a time…

Once upon a time, he had been a king. A king. A king of Narnia. And a brother. A brother. A brother to three siblings. And a human being, a person, with emotions and control. But no more.

Now he was a lifeless shell, a bug, a worm. No, not even a bug, not a worm. A… a… bacteria. Thriving on pain, despair, wallowing in his own pity, his own need to be hated. And he deserved the hate, that he knew. Deserved to feel miserable, deserved to feel pain. Deserved to die.

Death. Death was the solace he sought, the peace he needed. The darkness that would stop it all, stop the anger, stop the violence. Death was the solution to his problems.

Death. He craved it, its darkness, its calm, its peace. A rest from all the trouble, the hate, the violence. Death. The final solution to everything. Death.

Peter began to crawl, the only form of movement he could manage now. The only way he could get to her. To Death.

The sunburn and his injuries had sapped strength, weakened him until he was so unable to live, he knew the only way to recover was to die. He could barely move, and each jerk of his body sent dazzling, blinding pain. It consumed him, put stars in front of his eyes. His breath came in short gasps, and with each breath, he felt the relief of another stab of pain as it wracked his chest.

Yet as he grew tired, he paused, despairing. Why? Why wasn't he dead yet? Why hadn't he died? He hadn't eaten in days. The only form of nourishment that had passed his lips in nearly a week was snow which he had forced down. Yet he hadn't died, the suffering hadn't ended.

He was angry, confused, and miserable. Upset. Disgusted at himself. Angry at the world for tolerating him, at his siblings for not being strong enough to fight back, at his parents for not destroying him when they could have, for not killing him so none of what was happening could have happened. Angry at whoever or whatever decided who lived or died, for not choosing him, giving him what he deserved.

And then it hit him. What he deserved. He didn't deserve to die, didn't deserve to get the peace of death. He deserved to suffer, to live in an endless hell, to be hated yet tolerated by all, to live with the knowledge of the harm he had caused. He deserved to be in this much pain, to never die. He was invincible at this point; nothing could kill him, because he wasn't fit to die. He was a cockroach, a virus, he was despicable yet indestructible. He couldn't die.

A slow, insane smile spread across Peter's face. He was never going to escape from this. Never. The pain was going to be his forever, his to cherish until and beyond the end of the world.

Peter stood, although his weak legs could barely support him. He, miraculously, began to run. He felt nothing, just stone hard, cold. His shoulders shook, although whether it was with tears or laughter, Peter could never tell.

He couldn't feel, couldn't see, could only think. He could never escape his thoughts, the ones that inflicted all the pain.

Pain. He was choking on it all, all the suffering, it was suffocating him. He was drowning, flailing in a pool of pain as thick as glue. And his head was being held under by love.

Love. It was an indescribable felling that swelled up inside him whenever he thought of his siblings. It was a plague on him, a curse, a rot, a disease, a misery, a cobweb, a-.

Gurk. That was the noise Peter made as he slammed into a large branch. It slid easily through his chest, going in then out in one quick motion, like pounding a six-inch nail through a flimsy one-inch board.

He backed up, confused. The branch slipped away easily, and Peter put a hand to his chest. It came away wet, and as he glanced down, he saw it was red, shining against the pale white around him.

He looked up again, straight out at nothing. He smiled, and fell backwards onto the hard ground. His vision grayed, but he remained aware of what was going on around him. It was so silent. The snow was falling again, softly, on his face. In the distance, though, he heard the crunch of snow as someone came towards him. Footsteps. The footsteps of Death.

His vision finally cleared, and he saw a beautiful yet familiar woman kneeling next to him. Her soft blonde hair covered her face, yet he could see her shining brown eyes looking at him with a glint of spite.

"You," he said, slurring a little bit as blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He chuckled, smiling a little. It was to be Peter Pensevie's last smile…

TBC…

A/N: Uh… hehe… hiding now from my scary mind… lala… find a happy place, review, and recommend to people you know! Or people you don't! A random stranger on the street, although totally creeped out, would probably go read this if you told them they should! Hehe! Thank you, I'm so glad I ended on a happy note!


	7. Chapter 7

Control

A/N: Okay, I did some major writing over the holidays, and decided this needed an end. Oh, btw, it IS now titled 'Control', so, yeah. This is not the last chapter, I'm gonna hold onto that for a few days, but it kinda takes place a little bit before the end of the last chapter. Okay. Here we go…

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter Seven

They were searching for Peter when he felt it.

Edmund froze. Something in his head exploded, a voice screamed. It cried out for him, to him. It needed him; his brother needed him.

"What is it?" Susan asked, her face pale with fear. "Edmund? Is it Peter? Is he hurt?"

"Oh God. Oh God…" Edmund broke into a run, headed straight for the forest; Peter was there, he knew it… Peter was there, and he needed his brother's help.

"EDMUND!" Susan screamed, not understanding. She chased after him, nearly tripping on her skirts.

The anger flooded Edmund's brain, but it didn't consume him as he suspected it consumed Peter. Instead, it gave him a sort of buzz, the rush of adrenaline he needed to keep searching.

"PETER!" Edmund shouted, glancing about him frantically, searching for his king, searching for his brother. Then he froze again.

The anger had faded, replaced by a cold stream of emptiness that overtook Edmund's emotions, grasped his heart, sent him crashing to his knees. The emptiness flooded is very being, he could feel its cold grip everywhere, could feel the chilled hand in his chest. He could feel it. It was nothing. Absolute nothingness.

Then, Edmund felt some of his own blood warm his frozen body, felt the pounding of his heart beat back the cold, and he knew. Oh god how he knew. The power of it all sent him face first to the ground, the tears already falling from his cheeks and mixing with the freezing snow, melting it a little. He knew. Oh, how he knew. He was sick to his stomach, stunned, shocked, crying yet unable to express his emotions, the utter darkness he felt, the utter sadness, utter despair. He knew. He knew.

His brother was dead.

"Peter." It came out in a choking gasp, then again. "Peter." Stronger and stronger, again and again, as he had called many times. "Peter. Peter! PETER!" Edmund had called so many, times, and he had always gotten a response. "PETER!"

This time, there was no response. It was all true, what Edmund felt was true, everything, all the horrors were true, the world was dark and black and lonely. It was true.

The king was dead.

Edmund's brother was dead.

A/N: This is sad, I think… I was almost crying writing it. So, please review, give me constructive criticism, and all that jazz, because I am serious about being a writer, and I want to know where I could improve. Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

Control

A/N: Yes, it's here… the final chapter! So, uh… I like this ending. I know previously that I said it was going to go a completely different way, but I'm sorry. I like this way better. Yeah. Let's get on with it. Oh, by the way, it's a teensy weensy bit creepy. But I like it. Quick shout-out to Reyson- YES, I AM A DEATH-FIC AUTHOR!!! SORRY!!!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own thoughts.

Chapter Eight

She floated closer, her feet not touching the ground. Her blonde hair partially covered her face, giving a sort of curtain for her to hide behind until she was ready to reveal herself. Only a select few got to see the true face of Death.

Pale arms hung limply at her sides, barely distinguishable in the billows of pure white cloth. The only thing dark about her were her eyes- a deep brown, that of the earth the bodies whose souls she came to collect would soon be buried in.

She knelt, or appeared to be kneeling. Bony white arms placed themselves gently on the dying one's shoulder and arm. He turned his head; his eyes were nearly glazed over already. He had practically handed himself to her.

She knew him immediately. She had dealt with this one before, be he had previously made her angry, unwilling to fall to her will. Unwilling to die. But all the fight had gone out of him. He had given up. He had given himself to her.

"You," he gurgled, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. He smiled, and she smiled gently back, but he had already gone; he was already hers.

Gently, she took him up in her arms, and was almost surprised by how light he felt. Almost. Death is never surprised, but previously she had had to drag him away to her abode, he had had so much will to live. Now he was as light as a feather, an innocent soul in need of a well-deserved rest.

She didn't have to carry him far; he had been making his way to her, she knew. Soon he was within the safety of her walls.

Gently she moved him to a comfortable bed, laying him down with the care of a mother putting a young child to sleep.

"Good night, my love," she said, her voice raspy but kind, gently giving him a soft kiss on his pale forehead. Lovingly, she wrapped the coverlet around his stone cold body.

When she was sure he was comfortable, she sat with him for a few minutes, gently stroking his hair, his face, giving his hand the occasional squeeze, until she knew she had sat far too long, that she needed to go.

"I must leave you now, my dear, for I have others to attend to. But do not worry. You are safe. You are with me. You are safe." Again she kissed him.

Cold is the kiss of Death, but it is not without the warmth of love.

The End 

A/N: Comments? Questions? Concerns? I now accept anonymous reviews! Please tell me truly what you thought of this story, as I am trying to 'hone my craft', so to speak, and I really want constructive criticism. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and gave me encouragement, it really does help. Thanks for just reading!


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